Ten years ago on my wedding day, I sat on a bar stool with a friend at Eleven Winery on Bainbridge Island and raised a glass of wine in honor of my last hours as a single girl. If you’ve been a faithful reader, you know what happened next. My friend’s cell phone rang. She got a distressed look on her face and “What should I tell Beth?” was what I heard her say until she got off the phone and told me our wedding officiate had been in a car accident, was on medication, and would be unable to take the ferry over from Seattle and perform our ceremony.

Sarah, one of the winery’s owners, offered me another glass of “whatever I wanted.” Then she crafted an email which quite literally saved our wedding. She posted a note on IslandMoms, a Bainbridge chat group, which read Urgent! Officiate needed in 3 hours. Miraculously, a guardian angel (Debbi!) responded to Sarah’s post, just in the nick of time, and made it to Morgan Hill Retreat where our ceremony would be held.

I’ve told this story ten times now and each time it boggles my mind. A trifecta of trouble! Six months before our wedding, the site where we’d planned to hold our ceremony and host our family cancelled due to a rarely used city ordinance pertaining to hosting events at a B&B. Then, only a month out from our wedding day, the B&B where we’d hoped to spend our wedding night cancelled when they suddenly decided to get out of the business. And on top of it all—this!

Despite the obstacles, our ceremony was lovely indeed. Afterwards we went for a row in the little boat (with only one oar–oh the irony), on the tiny pond, beside the cedar tree under which we stood as we said our vows. Inside the boat was a bottle of champagne. We raised a glass and toasted—to us—because we were married. Well…not quite.

You see our former officiate—the one who never made the wedding—also had our wedding license in her possession and we weren’t officially Mr. and Mrs. until that piece of paper was signed. For whatever reason, she was not answering her phone. In fact, she’d blocked all incoming calls.

We left for our honeymoon two days later and raised a few more glasses as we made our way from Florence, Oregon up the Oregon coast, stopping at wineries along the way, collecting bottles to be opened on our first anniversary and all our anniversaries leading to this one, our tenth.

Returning home to Seattle we got the news our wedding license was no where to be found, which meant we had to visit the court house one more time and ask for our license to be reissued. The clerk was in disbelief as we shared our tale. He said it was “the second worst wedding story he’d ever heard.” License in hand we took the ferry back to Bainbridge and met Debbi at Eleven Winery, my wedding gown stuffed into a backpack. What a relief to finally sign our license! Then we raised a glass to celebrate. We were now husband and wife. For real. If you look at our wedding license, it reads “joined in lawful wedlock on the 28th of July” and “witnessed on the 11th of August!”

When you take vows of marriage you make big promises to do all sorts of really important things. To be faithful. To be there for each other in sickness and health. To stand by each other for richer or poorer. But in that moment there’s no way to foretell the years to follow, no way to know if you’ll keep your vows, continue to love and cherish each other, or what fortune and misfortune you will face as a couple.

Over the past decade, we’ve had some wonderful adventures. Trips to China, Tibet, Baja, Hawaii, Paris, Amsterdam and London. The discovery of pursuits we enjoy (photography!). We’ve hiked and dined and explored. There’s been a lot of love, and we’ve each learned a lot about ourselves and each other.

Of course we’ve also had our share of hardship. Two close friends, two beloved cats, two of our parents, and one sibling have all passed away. There has been pain, literally, confronting bodies that age in unforeseeable ways. And let’s not forget major life transitions, like parenthood, that unfold unpredictably. Raising our daughter, an adopted child with unanticipated special needs, has brought its own set of challenges, challenges we never imagined when we took our first steps as husband and wife.

We’ve survived living in our dining room for four months with one elderly cat and without a working shower while our house was being remodeled, and endured enormous grief when our first attempt to adopt fell through at the last moment. When we said ‘I do,’ I know neither of us imagined the entirety of what we just signed up for!

Our marriage has been tested and tromped on, yet here we are ten years later. Together for better and worse.

Today, on our tenth anniversary, I will raise a glass to my husband, a good man who has stood by me and his commitments, even though I know there have been plenty of times when he sure wished he were somewhere else. And you can bet I’ll be raising a glass to us, to our marriage, to who we’ve become. As my husband has said on more than one occasion: We are a force to be reckoned with!

Imagine a beautiful summer evening in the Pacific Northwest, the sun setting behind the Olympic Mountains. Guests are seated, waiting for a wedding to begin. Finally the music begins and the bride appears, a vision in white. Eyes tear and hearts beat fast with anticipation and excitement. Before long, the couple is married and post-wedding festivities begin.

Inevitably something always goes wrong. The groom can’t put the bride’s wedding ring on her finger. The flower shop confuses the order and bouquets meant to arrive in shades of red and gold are instead lavender and white. Most big events rarely go down without a hitch. As for our wedding? The hitch was we almost didn’t get hitched. But we sure got a good story.

The truth is, some of life’s best stories rise from the ashes of near disasters. Take a look at the photo above. See what’s missing from our wedding boat–where we spent our first moments together as husband and wife? One oar, the perfect metaphor for our wedding.

First there was Bed and Breakfast where we’d initially hoped to hold our wedding, house our immediate family and spend our wedding night. Six months before the wedding, we got an email from the owner telling us how very sorry she was but she could no longer host us. The City Council on Bainbridge Island, the destination for our impending nuptials, had decided to reinforce a previously unenforced ordinance. B&Bs could no longer host big events on their property without paying a hefty ($5K if I recall) permit fee.

And there we were, six months and counting down, with a caterer, florist, photographer and officiate all confirmed–for July 28, 2007. Facing the task of finding a site, at this late date, with our date available, seemed impossible. But find one we did, when–out of the blue–I asked the owner of a B&B in Poulsbo, where good friends were vacationing, if she might be open to hosting a wedding on her property, a lovely farm with a small pond, views of the Olympics, come chickens and a llama or two. She said yes! We also found another B&B nearby where we could spend our wedding night. Hallelujah! We were back in business.

Then, one month before our wedding the B&B where we hoped to spend our first night as husband and wife emailed us to say how very sorry they were but they’d decided to retire from the B&B business altogether and so we would need to find another location to stay on our wedding night. The owner of our new wedding site immediately sent out emails to all her contacts in the B&B world and, miraculously, she found a spot…a room above a garage in a brand-new B&B. We thanked our lucky stars we wouldn’t be sleeping in the barn with the llamas.

Finally, the pièce de ré·sis·tance–OUR WEDDING DAY–and the moment my husband-to-be received a phone call from our officiant telling him how very sorry she was but she wouldn’t be there to officiate! T-minus three hours to our ceremony. Yes, you read that right. Her story was she’d been in a car accident, was on medication and therefore could not drive to the ferry. I was in Eleven Winery on Bainbridge, blissfully amidst a wine tasting prior to my appointments to get my hair and makeup done.

It’s hard to really sum up what goes through a bride-to-be’s mind when she’s face with the reality that her wedding might go belly up. I’m sure the number of times this happens is infinitesimal. But it happened to me. I felt angry, ripped off, bereft. Was the universe trying to tell me something…like maybe I wasn’t destined for marriage?

But sometimes fates conspire for, rather than against you. The winery owner’s wife, who was conducting the tasting, came up with the brilliant idea (I am eternally grateful to this day) to post an “Urgent: Officiate needed“ post on a the island’s moms’ website (I love you mamas!!). We got two responses. One respondent, Debbie, had performed only one wedding for a coworker but read the posting and wanted to ensure we got married. T-minus 30 minutes before the ceremony, she appeared at our venue–our officiate angel–adorned in a robe and stole, ready to help us say “I do.” Tears streamed down my face in disbelief, to the chagrin of my makeup artist. Maybe we were to be married after all.

Clouds had filled the sky, threatening rain on one of the four weekends each year deemed to be the “most likely to be sunny” in the greater Seattle area. Yet another ominous sign. But at 5:30, the time we’d set to begin our ceremony, the sun burst out, and I walked towards the light and the man I love.

Forty-eight guests, a few llamas…and one heron, watched from the sidelines as we said our vows and pledged–to stand beside each other–for better or worse. And then…

WE WERE MARRIED!

I wish I could say all’s well that ends well, but I should add that our officiate also “could not find” our marriage license so we were sort of married in the eyes of our beloved family and friends, but not really married–at least not until either our ill-fated officiate found the license and we could sign and file it with the City of Seattle. If we couldn’t pull that off in 30 days they’d have to issue us a new one. And if we failed in this regard, well then we’d have to go “get married” all over again.

Off we went on our honeymoon, sending increasingly desperate emails: Have you found it yet? We wanted that license…and our deposit back (Did I mention our officiate was supposed to be our “day of” wedding coordinator as well?). Our emails went unanswered until we finally said we’d take our ex-officiate to small claims court. She agreed to meet my husband (wait, he wasn’t really–yet) at his place of work at 5:00 on a Friday. Amazingly enough, she materialized, with a check in hand to cover our deposit but…no license.

On Monday, there we were, back at the City of Seattle’s Marriage Licensing Department. We need our license reissued. The empathetic clerk told us it was “the second worst story he’d ever heard.” I hate to think what might have been the first.

We FedEx’d our license to Pittsburgh, where our best man lived, so he could sign it. He signed and FedEx’d it back. Then we made a date with our new officiate to meet us at the winery and sign our marriage license. I stuffed my wedding gown into a backpack and me and my Mr-to-be hopped on a ferry to Bainbridge Island. I did a quick-change in the bathroom and there we were–signature, signature, signature. TA-DA. We were married!! For real. Our wedding license, now framed, hangs on our bedroom wall. The date of our ceremony: July 28, 2007. The date we got a “witness”: August 11, 2007.

I’ve shared this story countless times with friends, relatives and strangers. One version or another has appeared on my blog, nine years running. And yet every time I tell our story, it blows my mind because it’s just so crazy, so completely inconceivable, that had I not actually lived it, I would never believe it was true. Our wedding–the wedding that almost wasn’t. But our story? I’ve never heard one better.

Losing one’s wedding site puts a bride and groom-to-be in a precarious position. Not only are you faced with finding a new location for your nuptials, you need to secure a spot that is available on the same date as the first place you reserved.

This is the scenario Big Papa and I were up against six months before our wedding when the B&B, where we were going to hold our ceremony, informed us they had to back out. The City of Bainbridge Island, where the B&B was located, had decided to uphold an old (and previously unenforced) ordinance preventing B&B’s from hosting events on their property, at least without paying a hefty fee in the order of several thousand dollars.

We found ourselves scouting for a new locale, one that–hopefully–had July 28th open because that was the date for which we’d shored up our caterer, photographer, florist, wedding night B&B and officiant.

Several weekends were spent visiting prospective wedding sites, trying to find somewhere that had the date and felt like a good fit–ideally–a place where we could house our elderly relatives so they wouldn’t have to shlep to the ceremony and then back again, crisscrossing Puget Sound on Seafair weekend.

Our situation was looking star-crossed until one day, I called a B&B where some good friends were staying to make plans to rendezvous with them during their visit.

“Hi, I’m calling to speak with my friend Carolyn who’s staying at your B&B. And um, I know this is completely out of the blue, but any chance you’d be open to hosting a wedding?”

“Well, I might be,” the owner Marcia replied. “It’s something I’ve been thinking about doing. You would be the first.”

A week later, we made a trip across Sound, to Poulsbo. The place, Morgan Hill Retreat, looked lovely: northwest-styled home on a generous piece of land with a view of the Olympics and a large old cedar tree and a cute little pond beside the house. We told her the specifics: small wedding, July 28, rooms for our parents to stay, and a contract was written up.

Time passed. More plans were laid. The wedding neared, one month and counting down. That’s when we received an email from the B&B where we were going to spend our wedding night.

“We regret to inform you that we have decided to close our bed and breakfast and pursue a different path. Unfortunately, we have to cancel your reservation.”

Seriously?! We immediately contacted every bed and breakfast within 20 miles. Booked. No room at the inn, any inn. Joking, we told Marcia we might end up spending our wedding night in the barn with the llamas. Star-crossed again.

With a couple weeks left to spare, Marcia called us and said she’d found a couple who were thinking of starting a B&B. They had a room over their garage where we could stay.

Two days before the wedding, we held a rehearsal in our backyard with our officiant and members of our wedding party. Then, on the night before our wedding, along with our families, we enjoyed a delicious salmon dinner at Morgan Hill and put the final touches on arrangements for “the day.”

I kissed Big Papa goodbye, with the agreement we wouldn’t speak to or see each other until our ceremony. Big Papa spent the night in Poulsbo with his best man and I rode the ferry back to our home in Seattle.

Wedding Day. Big Papa and his best man took a leisurely drive to Port Townsend. I treated myself to a relaxing massage and then boarded a ferry to Bainbridge with a friend, where we would do a bit of wine tasting before I had my hair done, and headed to Morgan Hill for our wedding.

At 2:47, a time neither of us will ever forget, Big Papa got a phone call from our officiant.

“Please take this with a grain of salt. I was a car accident and I’m on medication so I won’t be able to make it to the wedding.”

“Pull the car over!” Big Papa yelled.

I am thankful I wasn’t in his shoes. Instead I was at Eleven Winery, several sips into a wine tasting. My friend’s phone rang.

She listened and look worried. Very worried.

“Do you want me to tell her?”

I got the news. No officiant. Three hours before our wedding.

Why? Why us? I wailed.

Sarah, the wife of the winery owner, offered to pour me a full glass of whatever wine I wanted.

If ever there was a star-crossed wedding, it was ours. In that moment, it was hard for my mind not to wander…and wonder. Is the universe trying to tell me something?

I am still amazed that Sarah was able to think so quickly on her feet and post “Urgent! Officiant needed” on IslandMoms, and even more blown away by the fact that someone responded and managed to get there with 30 minutes to spare. Debbi was so calm, so centered, and pulled off our wedding without a hitch. She even knew several of our guests. In fact no one, aside from the wedding party, knew she Plan B until I gave my thank you speech at dinner.

We said our vows beneath the ancient cedar, and then spent our first minutes as husband and wife toasting our good fortune in a rowboat on the pond, a rowboat with one oar. How fitting, because all along it felt like we were up that creek without a paddle. Yet in the end, the stars aligned.

Eight years later I believe it was meant to be. All of it. I can’t imagine a more beautiful place to be married, or a finer person to marry us. Even the room above the garage, where we spent our wedding night, was just the right spot. On our nightstand the B&B owners left us a bottle of wine, a card, flowers, and a vintage porcelain trinket box topped with a bride and groom. Whenever I’m not wearing my rings, I place them inside the box, look at the bride and groom, and remember all the people who came together to help us become exactly that.

When Big Papa and I got married, we took the same vows that many people take when they commit to spend a lifetime together: for better, for worse; for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health; till death do us part. And, like most newly married couples, we hoped for health, better and richer. The rest—poorer, sickness, death—seemed a long ways off.

But for my sister and several close friends there was sickness, and death. A year-and-a-half after we became husband and wife, my sweet friend Dee passed away, and her husband became a widower. Last year, on the day of our five-year anniversary, another friend’s husband died unexpectedly. This year, on Valentine’s Day, my sister took her last breath, leaving behind husband and a daughter.

Each of these losses reminds me how life can change in an instant, and just how precious the days are with those we love. That is why on this– our sixth anniversary–I am even more appreciative when I wake up in the morning with Big Papa by my side.

Five years ago, as I dressed for my wedding, I slipped a vintage 1960s Mexican wedding gown over my head, and placed my rose-gold engagement ring, circa 1880, on my right-hand ring finger. On my feet were brand-new espadrille sandals and my new wedding band was tucked into in the suit pocket of our best man, Tom. With great care, I pinned a delicate broach to the back of my dress, borrowed from my dear friend Dee, who was too ill to attend our wedding. Something old, something new, something borrowed.

Yet something blue eluded me, even though it would be a fair to say my mood was blue in the moments before I said “I do,” certainly not what you would expect from a bride on her wedding day, but understandable given our officiate had called to tell us she would be unable to make our ceremony, a mere three hours before we were supposed to say “I do.” In those hours, the sky was filled with dark gray clouds, rain threatened, and gray crept into our spirits as we faced the potential of a wedding without someone to marry us.

With less than an hour to spare before our ceremony, we received a response to the “Urgent: officiate needed” message Sarah, owner of Eleven Winery, had posted on IslandMoms, a Yahoo chat group (the winery’s tasting room is where I had been when I received the bad news about our original officiate).

Soon after, the clouds lifted and sunshine warmed the shoulders of 48 guests seated facing the little pond that backed up to ancient the cedar tree, under which we were to become husband and wife.

The sound of Louis Armstrong’s What a wonderful world filled the air as I took my first steps out the door and down the stairs of Morgan Hill, walking slowly toward the cedar tree, where Big Papa stood waiting for me. Our newly-found officiate was smiling by his side. My eyes brimmed with tears as I walked, catching glimpses of smiles from family and friends.

At that moment, a juvenile great blue heron flew in and perched atop a rustic log bench, clearly a guest and visible to all who attended, save the bride and groom themselves. We faced each other, sheltered by the giant branches of the big old cedar, unaware.

The heron sat and watched as we promised to love and care for each other for the rest of our days. He sat and watched as we exchanged rings, tokens of our commitment to each other. He sat and watched until we kissed, husband and wife at last. And then he flew off.

As we celebrated the first hours of our marriage, guest after guest shared stories of the heron who visited our wedding. Maybe he was there in spirit, a winged representative for those who were unable to join us on this day, because they were no longer in this world or too sick to travel. Or maybe his appearance foretold of one who might become part of our lives a few years down the road.

Our heron is one of my most cherished memories from our wedding day. Something blue.

My first date with Big Papa was a ferry ride to Bainbridge Island, our second date was dinner at a Cajun restaurant, and our third date was an afternoon of yard work. It was mid-January and I remember spending a few hours outdoors in the brisk air raking up the leaves that covered his small backyard like a wet brown blanket. It felt so comfortable, the two of us working side by side, and I thought to myself: I could be happy with a lifetime of days just like this, with him.

When I look back over the six years we’ve been a couple, four now as husband and wife, my fondest memories are often the simplest of moments. While I love romance as much as the next girl—dinners out, vacations to exotic and interesting locales, I’m continually reminded it’s the day-to-day living, rather than grand gestures, that truly cement a relationship. For one, it’s not possible to exist indefinitely in a heightened state of passionate escape. Laundry needs to be done, groceries have to be purchased, and that little thing called life manages to jolt even the most starry-eyed lovers back to reality.

I’ve heard people say the true test of a relationship is to take a trip together, see how compatible you really are by putting yourselves in unfamiliar territory while having random unexpected situations thrown your way. I think there’s some truth to this, but also believe you can just as easily find out what your relationship is made of by facing the mundane negotiations of everyday existence, with a few extraordinary catastrophes thrown in for good measure. In my experience, it’s a lot easier to like someone while suffering from jet lag and sipping espresso at a café in Paris, than after a long, stressful week at the office.

That being said, we’ve had ample opportunity to see how our relationship will fare when faced with the trials of life on the road…or in a boat. Big Papa still reminds me that he suggested a ferry ride for our first date, because he figured if we didn’t like each other one of us could head to the bow and the other to the stern, and never the twain shall meet again. Fortunately, that’s not how our date ended.

We’ve traveled together to Canada, France, Armenia, China, Tibet, Hawaii, California, the east coast, and all over the Pacific Northwest. But the one trip that stands out as a testament to our relationship is the trip we took barely two months before we were married, when we flew to Tampa, Florida and then drove to Ocala, to move my elderly disabled father out to Seattle. He had just been released from a rehabilitation facility where he’d been off and on the past few years due to a series of falls. “Operation spring-the-Pop” is what we called it. Fly out on a Friday, pick him up from the rehab facility on Saturday, pack what we could into the four empty suitcases we’d brought with us, and fly back to Seattle with him on Sunday.

On the first leg of the journey from Tampa to Charlotte, North Carolina, dad did just fine. Then, soon after take-off on the second six-hour leg of the journey, he started complaining of pain in his chest and abdomen. Worst case scenarios played through my head and I chastised myself for underestimating the enormity of this undertaking. Soon my father was in considerable pain and asked to be taken to the toilet. Big Papa had bought us first-class tickets, so that in the event of a bathroom jaunt, we wouldn’t have to wrestle my paralyzed father past scores of other passengers only to wait in a long line for the loo. Unfortunately, dad had the runs for the remainder of our trip. I stood holding a blue airplane blanket between my outspread arms to block the view from the other first-class passengers because my father, with his paralyzed leg in a brace, couldn’t fit in the bathroom and close the door. Right beside him stood Big Papa. He cleaned and changed my father, and then cleaned and changed him again for the duration of the flight.

First class passengers who needed to use the facilities were diverted to the back of the plane. Thankfully, no one made a fuss and most of those sitting with us in the small first class cabin seemed sympathetic to our plight. It was a tough journey, the first of several we’ve experienced together.

If there had been someone available to marry us on that plane, I would have said “I do” on the spot, at 30,000 feet. There is nothing anyone has ever done for me that speaks such volumes about the content of their character. If Big Papa could do this for my dad, I knew he would stand by me—for better or for worse.

Of course, as some of you might remember from reading my blog, our wedding was one unbelievable fiasco after another. The first wedding site canceled six months before our ceremony, then the B&B where we were going to stay for our wedding night went out of business a month prior and finally, our officiate canceled merely three hours before we were going to exchange our vows.

When we managed to find someone to pronounce us man and wife, with barely an hour to spare, and I walked toward the man I would marry, tears rolled down my cheeks, tears of joy. Sure, I wish the road to matrimony had been smoother. Who wouldn’t have? And, yes, there have been many days since, when I’ve desperately hoped for a break from all the crises and heartache we’ve experienced. The thing is, no one gets through this life, or a marriage, without loss, without disappointment. Some are hit with more than others, but none of us escape entirely. In the midst of what sometimes feels like unrelenting challenges, I remind myself how lucky I am in so many ways. Finding Big Papa is one of them.

For much of the year here in the Pacific Northwest, clouds roll in and the rain comes down. Sometimes it lasts for days on end, this year right through summer. And then, from time to time, there are glorious days when the sun appears and Big Papa and I head together into the yard, now our yard. Side by side we tend to our garden and care for our plants. They continue to grow, despite the hardships they encounter, and so does our relationship.

A marriage is for better and for worse. But mostly it’s for everything in between.

Happy Anniversary, Big Papa!

Whether we’re on the high slopes of Everest or at the top of the hill in the Central District, I’m so glad you’re traveling beside me.

Weddings are momentous occasions. Two people begin their lives together. Sacred vows are shared before a community of loved ones and friends. A commitment is made to honor and care for one another for a lifetime: through sickness or health, for richer or poorer.

Big Papa and I said our vows to each other merely three years ago. At 48, and marrying for the first time, I could hardly be described as young or naïve. I’d been around the block enough times to know that life can throw some serious curveballs that test one’s mettle much less a relationship.

I’d seen my own parents’ marriage dissolve amidst larger-than-life crises: a husband paralyzed by a stroke and a daughter who had cancer twice as a child. Even the best of relationships sometimes break under strain.

Yet I also knew relationships that withstood gale force winds and came through on the other side even stronger than before. So as we prepared for our wedding, we chose two couples, whose relationship we admired, to say a few words and offer wisdom that we could draw on when times got tough.

I asked my closest childhood friend, Dee, and her husband Gaylen. They had been married nineteen years and Dee had been through a first bout and now a recurrence of breast cancer. Big Papa asked Bill and Pat, whom he’d known for six years. Bill had served on the same WWII ship that Big Papa’s father also served on. Bill and Pat had been married for 63 years.

As it turned out, neither couple was able to be there with us as we said “I do.” Dee and Pat were each struggling with illness and a cross-country trip was out of the question. But, they were there with us in spirit.

Shortly after they each called to let us know they’d be absent, a package arrived from Dee. In it, was a small antique pin that Dee’s mother had given her. Dee told me she wanted me to have it to wear on my wedding day.

A few weeks later we received two letters, first one from Pat and then one from Bill. Pat shared letters with us that she’d written to Bill over the years: one from the days when he was away at sea and she was waiting for him to return and another where she wrote to Bill describing some of the challenges they’d been through together over their many years of marriage and how they’d managed to overcome them. Bill’s letter offered wisdom and support, along with a few tips of things he and Pat had done over the years to ‘hold tight’ when their spirits sagged.

On the night before we got married, Dee called me to personally relay her best wishes and ask if she could send an email with a note she and Gaylen had written for us to read during our ceremony. Big Papa and I gathered up these words from our friends to share with each other and our guests on our wedding day.

And what a day it was! We’d already managed to find a new location to hold our ceremony when our original site canceled some six months before. A second B&B was lined up for our first night together as a married couple when the B&B where we’d intended to stay announced they were going out of business, just two months before our day. But when our officiant called Big Papa to say she wouldn’t be there to pronounce us man and wife just three hours before the ceremony…well, you can imagine that we were already putting the “through good times and bad” to the test.

It’s fair to say that in the process of getting married, we ran into a few catastrophes. And yet, miracles happened too, not the least of which was that a post, “Urgent! Officiant needed!” placed on IslandMoms, an internet chat group, turned up Debbi, the just-right-for-us officiant who made it to lovely Morgan Hill Retreat with minutes to spare. Lo and behold Big Papa and I became Mr. and Mrs.

Three years later we’ve experienced our share of trials and tribulations. We moved my elderly disabled father across the country two months before our wedding and overseeing his care (and him) has not been easy. Our adoption journey has been the source of many spirited and dispirited moments along with some pretty significant stress. My dear friend Dee passed away as did my beloved, nearly 18-year-old cat, Madison. We powered through a home remodel where we lived in one room and didn’t have a shower for four months. Our car was totaled in front of our house. And yes, like most couples, we’ve had your typical run-of-the-mill arguments.

In equal measure, we can lay claim to hours of sheer joy and days filled with playfulness, wonder and deep abiding love. Adventures to beautiful places both near and far have been ours: Tibet, Armenia, Willamette Valley and the California coast. Our home, the Urban Cabin, is now filled with light and a peaceful green oasis greets us outside our back door. We have enjoyed many amazing meals – some with food grown by our two hands and wine discovered on trips through the Pacific Northwest. Our understanding of ourselves and each other has improved by leaps and bounds and together we’ve tackled challenges and worked toward achieving our dreams.

Isn’t this what relationships, marriage – and life – are all about? You take the highs with the lows and the good with the bad. Things don’t always go the way you expect or happen in the time frame you might want. Then again, sometimes they do. “Life is what happens to us while we are making other plans.”

Truly, it’s the marriage, not the wedding that that those vows are really all about: the day in and day out meandering along in the world, looking out towards the future, remembering the past and enjoying the here and now.

I can almost hear Bill encouraging us to hold hands each night and try not to go to sleep angry with each other. I can see the images described in Pat’s letter: how sweet Bill is when he brings her coffee first thing each morning and how he stood by her during a long bout of depression.

Last night Big Papa and I sat together on the antique park bench we bought in honor of our third anniversary. I nestled my head against his shoulder and remembered a story Dee told me about being stuck with Gaylen inside their home for several days during a long snowstorm. Sitting next to each other on the sofa, she said, “It’s a good thing we like each other.”

When we exchanged marriage vows, I hoped that – on the balance – “health” would outweigh “sickness” and “good” would be more prevalent than “bad.” I still do. But no matter where the road may take us, I believe in the vows we said to each other and I believe in us.

…It will not always be smooth sailing; your relationship will be challenged. But in our experience, the process of weathering these storms will only serve to deepen and enrich the feelings that originally brought you together.

~excerpt from Dee and Gaylen’s wedding blessing

Happy Anniversary Big Papa! How lucky am I to travel through time with you by my side.

A 30-something year old friend of mine was married this past weekend. It was a good-sized affair, with nearly 200 in attendance. The ceremony was outdoors at the Columbia Winery. After they tied the knot, we milled around the tasting room before we were ushered into the dining area with roughly twenty round tables, each holding eight guests.

Once nestled into our seats at Table 16, Big Papa and I were relieved to be sitting next to a couple we know and like. We always have a good laugh together and feel at ease, plus they are in the loop on the details of our lives such as when we got married, where we live, and our pending adoption.

Otherwise, truth be told, Big Papa and I find events like this uncomfortable. That awkward moment when you’re seated next to strangers or standing at the buffet line. We know we’re connected to each other by a few degrees of separation, yet it can be dicey getting conversation started.

At weddings, I find that people generally ask a trifecta of questions: ‘How do you know the bride/groom?’ ‘What do you do?’ ‘Do you have kids?’

In the many years I spent as the perennial single girl in so-so jobs, gatherings like this were excruciatingly painful. I felt like I had a scarlet ‘S,’ for single, plastered on my dress. As my solo years stretched into my forties, I was all too aware that I was the which-one-isn’t-like-the-others at most bridal and baby showers.

When people ask, ‘Are you married?’ or ‘Do you have kids?’ I understand they’re not trying to be judgmental, but rather searching for a common bond, and a launching off point to share their own story. Still, I feel challenged not to feel “less than” when I can’t respond in kind.

For me, the sadness I would feel as I drove myself home was that I wanted to be able to talk about my loving husband, share pictures of my dimply-faced child and talk proudly about my career accomplishments. Each time, as I mulled over my post-revelry depression, I’d remind myself I need to come up with a cheery elevator story for the next event.

It’s not that I have no appreciation for the grand diversity of life circumstance and the path that is uniquely ours to claim. Life isn’t a competition. Our stories unfold in their own time and at their own pace. Marriage, jobs and kids aren’t like Girl Scout badges of honor. Not having one or any of the three doesn’t signify lack of ability, motivation or character.

I’ve certainly seen enough marriages implode and parent-child relationships that struggle mightily. I know that what you hear in cocktail conversation doesn’t always match up to what’s going on behind closed doors. Still, I admit that I struggle with not feeling like a member of the club when I attend celebrations like weddings, baby showers and class reunions.

These days, my life looks quite different than it did just a few years ago. I walked in to this wedding on Big Papa’s arm. We’re in the midst of adopting a child. We live in a cute, little house. I spend a good percentage of my time writing, which truly satisfies my soul. So, you’d think I could upgrade my outlook to match where I’ve transitioned to in life.

In part, I think my brain is so used to being the odd gal out that it’s hard to make the switch to glass half full. And, I’m sure, like many folks, I’m influenced by the messages our society spreads on what’s “normal.” Marriage at 48, adoptive parenthood at 50 and stepping off the career carousel is a bit out of the box. There are plenty of people who say “That’s great!” when I tell them we’re adopting, but I’ve also experienced my share of raised eyebrows and “Wow, you’re taking this on at 50?”

We left the din of the wedding to walk to our car. I took Big Papa’s hand and gave it a tight squeeze. I am deeply grateful for the love in my life, the roof over my head and the baby waiting in the wings, in Armenia. My life may have taken the longer, winding road, but I’m by far the wiser and infinitely happier with where it’s led me.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Some might fend off a mid-life crisis by leaving the comforts of their corporate salary to jet off to a deserted island. Others might buy a Jaguar. I’ve chosen to dive head-long into my 50s and beyond by becoming a first-time parent. At any given moment you might find me holding a camera, a spade, a spatula or a suitcase. Or my little girl's hand. Adopted from Armenia, she puts the Pampers and Paklava into my life.